


Forever

by Destinyawakened



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months, one week, three days, twenty hours, four minutes... Bruce thought as he watched the second hand on his watch, staring out over the busy dance floor, downing the rest of another drink, unsure of how he should feel, if the pain should be gone by now, or if ache in his head was from one to many or just the remains of his other life, the one he took the night off from recently to wallow in self pity. Except he didn't see it as self-pity, more of an incurable heartache that he couldn't shake, a constant bleeding that had never stopped since that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever

_Four months, three weeks, two days, twelve hours, thirty-six minutes..._ Bruce thought as he squatted, perched atop the building directly across the street from MCU, watching as Commissioner James Gordon stands on the roof top, leaning his shoulder against the reassembled batsignal, waiting for the one thing Bruce knew the older man was hoping would appear after months and months of not answering to the call. It isn't going to happen and it is never going to happen again. Bruce merely watched, feet firmly planted, arms on his armored knees, wishing that in some way he could make Gordon understand that what had happened came to be for a reason, and that reason was merely Gotham.

He had teamed up with Jim Gordon for a few years, starting it out a close partnership, avoiding the SWAT team at all costs. Gordon's wife left him and their partnership turned into a friendship, but nothing beyond the mask that Bruce wore – nothing beyond the cape and cowl. Bruce refused to let Gordon know, and Gordon refused to want to know. It was better that ways, it always had been and it should have stayed that way. But as their friendship turned into something more, something taunting below the surface of their dreams, scratching to be let free, Gordon began to question Batman's true identity.

“If we do this,” he had said in strained whisper against Bruce's lips, “if this goes any further than tonight, maybe it would be best if I knew.” Batman had shook his head, eyes never leaving Gordon's gaze, noticing the way his face dropped into a disappointed frown that he quickly tried to hide with that cheap grin he used when dealing with new recruits at the PD. It had always reminded Bruce of just how fake everyone could be – how, without Jim Gordon even knowing it, he was creating his own facade, pretending not to care, when it was one big lie.

It wasn't brought up again for months, and they continued their renegade romance, in the darkness of Gordon's apartment, no lights, curtains drawn and reading each other like Braille, happy just to know that the other was there. Bruce thought for some time that Gordon would figure him out; that by knowing each of his features by touch that one day when they actually shook hands, face-to-face without a mask between them, Gordon would know the feel of Batman's skin by heart and instantly know.

That day did come, and Gordon shook Bruce's hand without any recognition in his tone, his posture, his eyes – anything. Jim Gordon simply didn't put the pieces together, and even though Bruce was inwardly relieved, he was also quite disheartened that his midnight lover couldn't pick him out by touch, or even smell, alone. Maybe what they had was just wasn't something as important as Bruce wanted it to be.

A few months later Bruce lay in the darkness of the commissioner's bedroom with the older man at his side, both naked and overwhelmed from the savage fucking they had just consumed each other with – a release after a hard night where Batman almost didn't make it out of a bombed building. Nothing short of usual for Gotham, but he could tell it had set Gordon on edge. Bruce heard the older man's breath hitch in anticipation, and then Gordon whispered something that set Bruce off like a match; a strange sensation that hit him fully in the chest with realization.

“I really think I should know,” Gordon said. “Tonight was too close. I don't want to have to wait until you're laying dead from some whacked out criminal to finally know who it is I've been sharing my bed with.” It almost seemed the answer would be 'Batman,' but even Bruce knew that wasn't the answer Gordon wanted to hear.

There was only one way to really resolve it. Bruce had known that someday it would come to this – if only Gotham weren't such a needy bitch; if only Gotham didn't take everything and eventually destroy it.

Bruce had moved to the side of the bed and sat there, eyes fixed on nothing but the dark figure next to him. “It's too dangerous. This city is full of criminals who would do anything to get at my identity. You knowing is just one more person they could get to.”

“I'd risk that,” Gordon had said softly as he reached for the vigilante beside him, but Bruce was already standing, putting the body suit back on and quickly replacing the pieces of body armor. Bruce was really starting to regret indulging in the helter-skelter “romance” that should have never been; he should have known that sooner or later Gordon would want to see someone other than just Batman. It was just not something Bruce could risk. Gordon didn't need to die because he knew Batman's secrets. Gotham needed the commissioner, and Gotham was, after all, first priority over everything.

“No. _I_ won't risk that,” Bruce had said, secretly wishing he could tell the older man and just be happy, but he knew that eventually it would break them apart, in death or lies, everything. It was easier when it was simpler, and bringing Bruce Wayne into the equation did not make things simpler, it made them... difficult. Bruce Wayne was after all a simple facade, a play that Bruce staged every day, however impromptu.

Gordon had scrambled to his feet, tripping over the something on the floor. Bruce knew he was looking for the light switch, to find what he needed to know on his own, but Bruce had the mask on, cape attached, and glared at Gordon as the man's face fell. Gordon shook his head in sure disappointment and utter annoyance. Bruce wasn't sure which was more real, but both made him hate himself for what he said next.

“Maybe this was all a bad idea. Maybe it should end here, now, for the sake of Gotham.” B _ecause you'll end up just like them_... Bruce knew it had to happen, because everything he had ever loved in life was always taken from him and it was always, always Gotham that did the taking. Gotham City herself was a porous monster that sucked people into her depths and never let them free until they either became the opposite of what they intended or died. Bruce never meant to be a vigilante, his parents never meant to die and neither did Rachel – that was simply how it was.

“Gotham?” Gordon asked quietly as he tried to reach to touch Batman's arm. Though it was a question, Bruce knew Gordon understood enough, but he didn't understand everything, because he didn't know Bruce Wayne and the hurt, the void, that engulfed him from losing everything he ever loved.

“You wouldn't understand.” With that Bruce had slipped out the bedroom window.

That was four months ago, and still Bruce has an ache in his chest every day, a shortness of breath when he takes a moment to think, his thoughts always leading back to Jim Gordon. Maybe he was wrong, maybe nothing would happen to older man and they could have been happy together, living and knowing. But so much of that meant that Bruce would have to learn to be himself around Gordon outside the armor, learn to be himself for someone other than Alfred. The billionaire couldn't remember the last time he let himself just be...

 _No,_ he thinks _, Gotham will definitely eat one of us whole._

So that is where he crouches, wishing things could be different, wishing he could tell Gordon how he felt, about everything. But it is useless and Bruce knows that in the end one of them would regret it.

He rocks to the balls of his feet and jumps down the dark alleyway, leaving Jim Gordon, once again, alone and waiting by the light of a signal that redeemed itself sometime ago.

\----

 _Six months, one week, three days, twenty hours, four minutes_... Bruce thought as he watched the second hand on his watch, staring out over the busy dance floor, downing the rest of another drink, unsure of how he should feel, if the pain should be gone by now, or if ache in his head was from one to many or just the remains of his other life, the one he took the night off from recently to wallow in self pity. Except he didn't see it as self-pity, more of an incurable heartache that he couldn't shake, a constant bleeding that had never stopped since that night.

Bruce had begun to indulge himself in rather chancy activities, taking to actually bringing home a new girl every night, despite Alfred's concern that just because he acted the playboy part, didn't mean Bruce had to be that man. But Bruce was far beyond the point of caring, beyond the point of feeling anything at all. That night Bruce went to a club known for fast dancing, loose women, and booze. Bruce could do with all three that night. He had dealt with a criminal – a bully of sorts – the night before, a man named Bane who threw Bruce around like a paper doll. Bruce came home bruised in the morning, aware that the ache would last him a good three days. He well deserved a night of not caring. Jim Gordon was after all still in charge of Gotham City and Bruce needed to know if he could still feel.

The girl at his side was some blond drug addict with dark eyes, wearing a tiny, little red sequined dressed that left nothing to the imagination. Bruce had his pick of almost any woman he wanted that night, dancing and drinking his life past no return, buying drinks for any girl interested and even those who weren't. But this girl, this one held promise as she was the only girl willing to leave the club to head back to his place. It didn't matter that she wasn't much to look at, she was eager and drunk, and Bruce just didn't care anymore.

They arrived at the penthouse and Bruce hit the button on the fireplace when they walked in, stumbled into a chair and sat with his legs splayed out, pants crooked, jacket half on, shirt unbuttoned and tie handing around his neck loosely. The girl had gone straight to her knees in front of him, unzipping his pants and began to suck him off. Bruce had placed his hand on the back of her neck, encouraging her to go down farther, sucking harder, whatever it was she was doing. He wasn't even able to tell if his body was responding, he felt so numb inside, cold and dank. He tried to enjoy himself, tried to think of all the things that girls use to do to him, how the shape of their bodies made him ache with need, and grind into them with desire. And now, all he saw was some dirty girl with her bright red lips around the base of his cock, eyes glazed over from one too many shots of rum and possibly a hit of E. He didn't care. She was another worthless nothing that Gotham produced; a girl that one day he would end up leaving on the steps of GCPD for the police to take care of – _for Gordon to take care of._

It always came back to the commissioner. Always. He imagined their last encounter, how Gordon had planted his face between Bruce's legs, tongue wrapped around his cock, licking his length in a way no one had ever done before, hands all over his body, scathing the scars with his finger nails, jilting the vigilante's balls with his chin with every slick thrust he allowed Bruce – Batman – to push into his mouth. Bruce can remember the way Gordon's teeth nipped at him, sending him over the edge and made him come harder than he ever had with anyone else.

Bruce forced the girl's mouth closer, mumbling something about gentle teeth, and she sorta of gets the idea, it's not quite the same since she doesn't know all the spots Gordon knew. Bruce makes the most of it and pretends it's the commissioner anyway, before their break off, before everything fell down around him. Before he realized that it couldn't go on that way if Bruce was going to keep Gotham and Gordon safe. He lets his senses go into a vivid white release into the girl's mouth and as she pulls back he gently kicks her away, asking her to leave.

He watches her leave, grabbing her purse in a huff and he distantly remembers yelling at Alfred to drive her home, in which the butler glared at him with a shake of his head but steadily obliges. Bruce sits in his chair, not bothering to compose himself in any manor, as it didn't really matter, and thought over the night behind him and how lonely he really is, and how everything he ever wanted was within his grip and yet so very far away. He just couldn't risk the life of someone else, not when there were things bigger than both of them that had to be placed first. And definitely not if it meant a risk to the other man's life.

Bruce had enough guilt. He didn't see needing any more.

\-----

 _Seven months, one week, three days, two hours, fifty-five minutes_... Bruce thinks as he watches the white marble floor, the dress shoes of men and the heels of women touching every few seconds along with the sweeping of ball gowns; it all makes his head spin more. A gala of sorts, what he's known for along with the booze and being social. He doesn't usually drink at these events, they had been known to be crashed in the past and he usually wants to be on his toes, but as the blur of colorful dresses whirled around him, he began to not care and took down his flute of champagne. One glass would never break him; one glass wouldn't send him over the edge.

There's a break in the crowd around Bruce, the women talking to him stop as the elevator doors open and Jim Gordon himself walks out, dressed in fine black tie attire, hair combed neatly, eyeing the crowd, as if wondering when he might escape. Bruce feels his heart sink into his stomach, every inch of him burns to run the other direction while another part of him tells him to approach the commissioner and pretend, as he always did, that everything was fine. Because to Jim Gordon, everything would be fine with Bruce Wayne... the older man didn't know any better.

Bruce can feel every breath he has stick in his throat as Gordon walks towards him, hand out for a firm handshake, which Bruce obliges him with. “Mister Wayne. Can't thank you enough for this fund raiser. The GCPD is very grateful.” Bruce takes a moment to look down at Gordon's hand in his and begins to feel an awkward sensation on his skin as he can feel the calloused pads of Gordon's fingers and palms. Bruce swallows hard and feels the blood rushing to his head, a deep shiver running down his spine as he quickly lets go of the commissioner's hand and gives a distant, smug smile.

“My pleasure.” He says simply, backing away a few steps, beginning to wonder if the one drink might have been too much after all. Gordon stares at him in a little confusion, reaching for the Bruce's arm as trips backwards over his own feet. Gordon has a hold of Bruce's elbow, catching him and Bruce is stunned and thrown off guard, and tries to regain his composure. “Excuse me.” He leaves the commissioner standing in the wake of his thoughtless back peddling, and heads towards the stairs. Alfred is by the stairs and catches Bruce's gaze, a worried look on the old man's face.

“Master Wayne...”

Bruce starts up the stairs without even looking back. “Not now, Alfred.” He makes his way to the master bedroom, leaving the lights dimmed as he stares out over the Gotham City below him. He places a hand on the cool glass, head bent just enough to see the small lights flicker below in the streets, wondering desperately if he should be out there, doing something.

He leans his head against the glass and closes his eyes, the distant memory of his parents flashing in back of his eyelids, the silent tone of Rachel's voice ringing through his ears and somewhere in between both he can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slowly dying, as another piece of him breaks apart. How much more could Bruce Wayne take before he breaks completely? How much more until it all ends, and he slips up and everything eventually turns to dust around him? How much more until _he_ gives up on _Gotham_? Would he always have to sacrifice happiness for the evil that Gotham was, or would he just give in one day and let it all go, and let Gotham consume itself?

“It doesn't have to be this way,” a voice says behind him, but Bruce doesn't even move, doesn't even open his eyes. He feels the air thicken around him, the place in his chest tightens as the words reach his ears and make him shake involuntarily. He hates that Jim Gordon could do this to him. It shouldn't be this way; it should have never been at all.

Bruce doesn't answer the commissioner. He keeps whatever dignity he can muster coiled around him, creating an air of the uncaring facade he is so known for.

“I'm not stupid,” Gordon says again and Bruce can hear the man take a few steps towards him.

“How long?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Just now. Downstairs,” Gordon says slowly, and Bruce hears the older man right next to him, but doesn't lift his head to look – he doesn't want to see what he let go, afraid he might break. A hand touches Bruce's shoulder and he feels his skin crawl, a shiver breaking across his back, and he feels everything turn cold around him.

“How did you figure it out?” Bruce asks; he wants to know, wants hear the words as Gordon tells him the little things that finally gave him away.

“I've always suspected. You weren't Bruce Wayne tonight. That much was obvious,” Gordon replies. Maybe not the Bruce Wayne Gordon knows from the news or the once-or-twice meetings they've had. Still Bruce – just not hiding under false pretenses. Bruce stiffens a bit at the fingers tightening around his bicep.

“I meant what I said, Gordon.” Bruce finally opens his eyes and lets them rest on the lost soul in front of him, a man with more regrets than most but not half as many as Bruce.

“What's the difference? I already know now.” Gordon is closer than Bruce would like, inches from him, his body heat radiating against Bruce like a furnace, slowly moving in on him. Bruce swallows as Gordon pushes him against the glass window, hands around his waist, resting on Bruce's hips.

“Pretend that you don't,” Bruce whispers as his lips tremble against Gordon's and Bruce can feel his soul breaking as each loud thump of his heart against his chest tries to deny everything thats aching for release in front of him. Gordon's eyes are a deep, misty blue through the lenses of his glasses, peering down into Bruce's soul, and its then that Bruce knows he'll never be the same, no matter the outcome now.

“I'm not going to run from this,” Gordon says and mashes his lips into Bruce's. Bruce feels himself melt, his bones turning to jelly as he lets the commissioner take what he wants from him, and Bruce starts to feel that he needs it, but the stabbing at the back of his mind tells him its wrong, that in the end one of them is going to get hurt, one of them would regret it forever. He pushes at Gordon, but the man won't budge so Bruce's pushes a little harder until their lips aren't connected anymore.

“I can't lose anymore. I won't let Gotham consume another life because I wanted to be happy for a little while,” Bruce explains, hands on Gordon's chest to keep him at a distance. The older man lets out a ragged sigh, sympathetic eyes digging into Bruce's heart, breaking him a little bit more. But he knew that letting anyone closer than was needed would only end in disaster.

“This isn't just your decision! This isn't just about you!” Gordon tries to explain to Bruce as the younger man pushes past him and out of the room.

\------

 _Seven months, one week, four days, nine hours, ten minutes..._ Bruce notes the time as he always does as each day passed, but this time he is listening to the voice mail messages on his phone, all of them from Jim Gordon. He doesn't bother to listen to any of them, he simply deletes them as he hears the first words from the commissioner's mouth. He doesn't need more reminders of what he's given up for Gotham – he doesn't need Gordon to remind him that working together could benefit them and the city.

But Gordon doesn't understand that everyone Bruce loves is always taken from him. Always. And he wouldn't have that for the Jim Gordon; he won't allow it.

\-----

 _Seven Months, one week, four days, twelve hours, thirteen minutes_... Bruce stands in line at the bank; Alfred had said he would take care of the banking, but Bruce insisted that he would do it, if only to get out away from everything else – away from Alfred and away from Wayne Enterprises for just a little while. He wanted distractions, not reminders of why he was doing all of it, why he was putting on a show people he didn't even know and saving the lives of those who would turn their backs on him at any moment's notice.

He walks into the bank, the breeze from the air conditioner brushing against his cheeks as he stands in the long line. Everything is completely still around him, he feels a sudden rush of in the back of his mind, and he slowly turns his head to the door as five masked men enter the bank shouting obscure orders to all the patrons, each person falling to the ground quickly. Bruce finds he can't seem to make his feet work to move, that he is standing more still than he ever has in his life and there is a blur of masks around him, and he can hear them but everything is muffled, like he doesn't want to hear it.

The leader, apparently, is in Bruce's face looking him over with pale blue eyes and there is a sense of recognition there and Bruce finds that he is handing over his wallet without so much of any fight. What the robbers didn't know is that in the back of Bruce's thoughts he is contemplating the best way to take him down, the best way to take them all down without getting anyone hurt. Bruce feels the hands of the man on him, searching him, taking his gold cuff links, designer sunglasses, cell phone, keys to the Lamborghini, everything. Bruce is waiting for the moment he needed, for them to put their guard down.

A child cries in the corner as their mother holds them down and tells them to stop and Bruce is distracted for a moment and when he turns back one of the gunmen has their hands around a teller, gun to her head to unlock the safe in the back. The man is half dragging her and Bruce sees this commotion as his moment to take control. He thrusts his fist into the face of the man nearest him, knocking him to the ground in one hit. Bruce kicks the gun across the room towards the door, turns and finds himself faced with another gunman. He knees that one in the gut and uppercuts a fist to his jaw to send that one ground as well. He starts to run towards the man with the woman.

He's suddenly distracted by another scream, this one from a woman across the room where the other two gunmen are watching over a crowd of hostages. Bruce turns his head to the screaming just as he lets his guard down, and before he can comprehend the actions to take, before his brain can process that he's already being shot at, he feels the steel of one bullet rip through his stomach painfully, and another embed itself into his chest, the pain starting to subsides as he feels his body begin to go into shock. Adrenalin still pumping through him, he swears under his breath he won't be defeated – not yet.

He continues his path towards the lone gunman with the woman, still heading towards the vault. He can't feel the pain yet, ignoring how the bullets are practically burning into him. Instead he picks up a bit of speed and throws himself at the man. Bruce feels his fist connecting with bone, hearing the sound of the man's jaw breaking under brutal force, a snap that sounds like a firecracker and the man goes down under him, the woman scrambling away. Bruce goes to turn, a slow and feeble turning at his hips and he finds two set of guns trained on him. He has one chance; before he knows the shock will set in, before he loses too much blood to keep going.

He ignores the pain, _you've had worse wounds than this_ , he tells himself, even if it's not true. He's had bullet wounds before, but nothing that was bleeding as much as he is now, but he tosses that aside too, and runs with everything he has at the last two gunmen. He's able to avoid most their bullets, but one scrapes his shoulder as he jumps up and sidekicks one man in head with his foot, bringing him down and disarms the next man with his fist as he lands, throwing one final punch to the last one's face, hearing a second jaw break in one day. Nothing new for Batman, but something Bruce hoped he'd never had to hear as Bruce Wayne.

Finally, when he's sure all five men are down he falls to his knees, suddenly completely spent, feeling the for the first time each bullet wedging itself further into his body, trying mentally to block out each one, to ignore the pain. People are cheering around him while some are murmuring about how they never knew Bruce Wayne had it in him, and Bruce finds he just doesn't care anymore, he just wants to lay down on the floor and sleep, shake it all off and wake the next morning to find it was all a bad dream.

Except he knows it's not going to happen.

Bruce can hear the sirens, the clamber of police issued shoes squeaking against the polished wood floors. He's not sure when he blacked out – if he blacked out – but he can't seem to focus straight on anyone around him. He can feel his body being turned over and his eyes lock momentarily with Jim Gordon's slightly frantic ones. There is a moment when Bruce wants to say “I told you so” but he knows Gordon won't understand, won't believe that everything Bruce told him about one of them getting hurt in the end being completely true. But with the look on Gordon's face it's as though maybe, just maybe, he already knew.

Bruce can feel his head being cradled ever so gently in the commissioner's lap, hands on either side of Bruce's face, warm, gentle and trembling as he mumbles something to Bruce about staying with him, but Bruce isn't sure he's hearing anything at all. Everything becomes muffled and he feels a chill surround him, pulling at his chest and he starts to feel the real pain set in. He grimaces and Gordon has his hands all over Bruce's face, and Bruce tries to say something but nothing comes out. He wants to reach up and touch Gordon's face, but his arm feels heavier than it ever has and Gordon's whispers for him not to move.

Gordon bends his head down so that his forehead is against Bruce's, sharing in what Bruce knows will be his last breaths, and he can't say he is sorry, because he isn't – there was no one else he would rather share this moment with. Gordon caresses the side of Bruce's face softly.

“That's not fair,” Gordon whispers to Bruce. Bruce begins to wish harder than ever that things had gone so differently. Maybe if he had just told Gordon, maybe if they had been together today instead of him being alone...“You can't –” But whatever the commissioner wants to say is stuck in his throat. Bruce knows there is something there, something about the irony in all of this.

There is more shuffling around Bruce, the black boots of the EMT's around him, working around Gordon quickly, and Bruce feels a cold sweep over him and as he grips Gordon's jacket with his fist and Gordon's by his ear, a soft kiss is placed there just before the words that shatter Bruce completely before being engulfed in complete darkness.

“I never said thank you.”


End file.
